Never Say 'No'
by Jackoat
Summary: He couldn't remember why it had ever been a problem to do this to begin with. It was worth it in Belfast. It was worth it in Germany. It was worth it in Miami. Compilation of smutty one-shots.
1. Like No Other

**A/N**: **The parts in italic are meant to be from Michael's memory. As in, it had already happened sometime in his past. Sorry if that isn't immediately clear when you read it**_**.**_

_"Well, now you're in Miami. Get yourself a 24-year-old with big, fake tits."  
__"They bore me."  
_- Fiona and Michael, Pilot

_Michael's had sex with other women since he left Fiona in Ireland before, but it's never been quite the same._

* * *

He's working the cover of a British international playboy and he knows suspicious Iranians have bugged his hotel room. He wouldn't have it any other way – just makes selling the cover easier.

The bar at the Abassi Hotel where Michael's drinking with his contacts is grand – glass walls, paintings on the roof, and beautiful women. Sure enough, he's spotted a loitering 24-year old with big, fake kits eyeing him. Breast mounds so perfectly round that he can practically imagine the implants underneath.

The Iranian economy is poor and corrupt, so women give themselves willingly, especially to the rich. Locals spread success stories around – the businessman who needed a trophy wife and the lucky girl who's gone from starving herself on stale salads to starving herself on gourmet salads while in Gucci.

So Michael makes sure his contacts see him (surreptitiously) checking out the possibly dyed-blonde in the corner. Makes sure they see him swaggering over to her in his Brioni suit and chatting her up.

It's easy. Michael doesn't have to try. One glance at his diamond watch has the girl already seducing _him_ instead.

"I know how to move. I won a hula hoop competition when I was younger," she flirts.

"Oh, I don't know, I'm a harsh critic," Michael replies smoothly, "I prefer to make my own assessments." Moments later, the girl's on his arm and Michael sees the Iranians whispering and glancing at him in the reflection of the hotel mirrors.

Phase one complete. He grins. And he has to admit, _he's_ a bit excited, too. It's been months and he _is_ a man, after all. There is only a fleeting guilt as Fiona comes to mind, the way she'd whisper dirty things into his ear, her Irish accent making everything sound ridiculously erotic. But it's fleeting, because he is a spy and they don't get fixated on things.

So why, when this gorgeous blonde is kissing him on the hotel bed, her tongue running the back of his teeth, is Michael... disgusted? Her hands cup his head, pushing him deeper in to the kiss. Only by sheer experience and discipline is Michael able to keep himself focused and acting engaged. His hands travel down to her blouse, fingers expertly unbuttoning.

It wasn't like that with Fiona, he thinks, and his mind wanders.

_Fiona on top. Pushed him back onto the bed hard. She ran her tongue along Michael's lips and pressed small kisses, but never going further. He can't get enough, he needs more of this beautiful creature._

_Michael ran his fingers down Fiona's arm and practically fumbled the zipper on the back of the dress that tantalized his mind all night. Fiona tweaked his nipples hard – it's almost painful – all the while whispering, "Oh god, I'm so wet. I've been wanting to taste you all day."_

_He groaned. Palmed her breasts and she moans too, but doesn't stop talking. "You're so delicious – I love wrapping my hands around you and just sucking you every way, suck, suck, suck, suck, suck. . ."_

He's brought back to reality when the girl flirtatiously asks if he remembers her name.

"Sahar," he says, without missing a beat.

She's slightly disappointed at the speed of his response. She's beautiful and the local men love her; it's just a question of who's rich enough to chase. The man should be head over heels for her by now.

"You passed," she says as she brings her hands down to his slacks and deftly unfastens the belt. "Are you so hungry that you can barely wait?" Michael teases, keeping up his act. Her response completely, utterly, shocks him.

"I'm your horny little bitch slut," she replies without a second thought, "I'm your slave and I'll pleasure you the way you deserve."

His eyebrows rise for a millisecond. Definitely something Fiona would never once in a million years say. Except maybe under cover. But she'd have given the guy a lesson in the end. Maybe. He's not quite sure but he knows that Fiona would sooner die than say this to him.

Sahar pushes his pants off and immediately gets to work on his semi-hard cock, swirling her tongue around the tip and squeezes his balls. Michael groans in the sensation of having fingers other than his own, but the excitement fades and he mentally chastises himself.

Beautiful woman. Beautiful woman who wants to be your whore. Iranians no doubt making sure he's who he says he is. Get. It. _Up_.

The woman is a bit surprised that Michael still isn't fully hard after five minutes; she's no amateur after all. But that doesn't stop her from redoubling her efforts. She will not stand to be stuck in the dusty streets of Iran; she will go to London with this man.

In a last ditch attempt to salvage the situation, Michael imagines that it's Fiona blowing him, Fiona who can have him panting like a marathon runner just by kissing him. He remembers their last time.

_Fiona didn't have him drop trou immediately, instead prolonging his torment by sucking his nipples while giving him only the occasional squeeze of the bulge in his pants. Her hands rubbed behind Michael's ears and he pulled her up for another kiss. His tongue locked in a frantic struggle for dominance with Fiona's. _

_She broke away suddenly and started trailing kisses down his front, stopping at the opened pants hanging off of his hips. Without warning, she fisted him under the boxers and pulled his constraints down. "Fuck, Fiona," Michael gasped at the pressure, his cock jerking. He let his fingers tangle in her hair, anticipating the moment._

By now, Michael is hard and moaning and Sahar is smiling in satisfaction as she works his cock and balls. She thinks this man is pulling just a bit too hard at her hair, but it's a small price to pay for the chance at a life off of the streets. She licks both of his balls and fits them into her mouth. Another moan ensures from Michael and the fingers tug harder.

_Fiona dragged her tongue along the underside of his dick, up and down and back and forth, sensations driving Michael wild._

"_Best you've ever had," Fiona said confidently._

"_Yeah," Michael grunted, "Don't stop. You're so damn good."_

_Her tongue is so amazing, the way it passes over his slit and makes his hip writhe in want. And then finally, she kneaded his balls and took him in whole, throating him. Any last thoughts Michael may have had were erased; his mind blank, his eyes glazed and as slits in rapt pleasure as Fiona bobbed up and down, tongue raking around as she sucked him. _

"_Fi, stop," Michael moaned, "I want to do it to you." Fiona's response was to hum the vibrations sending pleasure shooting through his cock and up his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood on edge._

"_Oh god," Michael gasped, "Fuck, Fi, fuck, fuck, fuck, stop." Michael pulled her head off and kissed her, tasting his precum on her tongue._

"Mmmm, you taste great," Sahar said, looking Michael in the eye. Her voice jars him from his memory. He started to wonder why in hell he thought tonight would be great.

But the show must go on. He is a goddamn spy at the top of his game, for Christ's sake! The art of deception is one of one of his greatest talents; it's why Max gave him the Iranian job.

"_Fucking voyeurs,_" Michael thinks, "_Iranians want a show? I'll give them one._"

"Sahar, the last man you had? I taste just like him, only sweeter." Michael flips Sahar onto her back and goes down, down, down. She's clean-shaven and smells like cocoa butter. Tastes sweet. She must have eaten a lot of pineapple. But it's just not the same sweet tanginess he was addicted to. He envisions Fiona in his mind's eye as he goes about his ministrations.

_Michael rolled over and pinned her wrists above her head as her lithe body writhed below him, trying to escape. _

"_My turn," Michael said, refusing to cease control._

"_Just fuck me already. I know you're so close," Fiona taunted, eyes flashing, a hidden challenge to her lover's control._

_Always the perceptive and never one to let a challenge go, he grinned. "I think you'll find this worth experiencing." Damn him if he wasn't going to make this just as good for Fiona as it was for him._

_He breathed in her scent and dipped his tongue past her folds, tasting her. Tangy. A bit of salty. Sweet. _

_Right then and there, Fiona Glenanne became Michael Westen's favorite delicacy, even more than yogurt._

_Michael leaned back and looked at her, taking in her every detail. His hands traced her body, touching every curve and sucked her nipples as he rubbed her clit. Then he traced his tongue down her body until he was at her hood again. He pushed past and swirled his tongue around the nub. Fiona moaned and squirmed, pushing down into his face in a bid for more._

_He flicked his tongue fast back and forth and slid two fingers into her pussy, testing the waters. It was so unbelievably incredible, the way her walls were clenching around his fingers, trying to find something to grip onto._

_He started a fucking rhythm with his fingers curved slightly up, such that every time he brushed against her erogenous spot, Fiona moaned a bit faster and faster until she arched and convulsed and was screaming his name with Irish swears like a string of beads. _

_Michael lapped her juices up like a thirsty dog, eating her and tasting her and not getting enough and needing her more and loving the taste of her on his lips after._

"_How'd you like that?" He smirked, loving Fiona loose and her hair wild and her as crazy with pleasure as Michael was before. He was satisfied with his handiwork, knowing that he could pull apart her perfectly crafted exterior. _

But there is no smug satisfaction when she comes, although _she_ definitely appreciates the orgasm. There is just the boredom of another job finished, and she doesn't taste like Fiona either. Nowhere near. It is too… sweet. He doesn't bother eating up the ejaculation; let it be extra lubrication instead.

"You're so damn amazing," Sahar breathes. "Come in me, make me your little cumslut!"

"Yeah," Michael mutters. Sahar's complete lack of self-respected really does not turn him on. It's the damn economy, he thinks. Sahar is the breed of woman catering to the male chauvinism and ego. The kind playboys have. The part he is playing.

He positions his cock at her opening, closes his eyes, and thrusts in. Slowly at first, feeling his surroundings, and then gradually building up speed. Sahar's moans and screams of encouragement go in on ear and out the other.

"_Fuck, you're so tight," Michael groaned, feeling Fiona's walls pulsating around his cock. He was so aroused, so in lost, so hard that he had to use all of his self control to just not start pounding away at Fiona's small frame immediately. He forced himself to look at her, study her face, her breasts. Fiona stared back at him and squeezed him with his muscles, hurrying him to start moving._

_Michael tasted her mouth as he pushed in and out, establishing a rhythm. Tongues twisting. Sparks flying. Sweat beading. Fiona wrapped her legs around him, sending him deep into the abyss of pleasure. She moaned and twisted and bit his shoulder so hard that he winced, but the pleasure outweighed the pain. Her fingers felt like fire on his skin, scorching everywhere with chilling sensations. Her walls clamped and Michael kept pumping, drawing out her release and until he exploded himself and fuck, fuck, _fuck _the world faded to grey and he was riding the most intense high, the highest wave and he was over the edge, liquid heat coursing his veins as he saw stars, stars, _stars, _as he screamed and then collapsed, panting and happy and with the silliest fucking grin on his face and so damn _content.

"My name is Sahar. Not Fiona."

He blinked. "I know."

"You called me Fiona. I'm Sahar."

"Sahar. I'm sorry."

Michael rolled off of her and stared at the ornate ceiling with its gold beveling.

_Jesus fucking Christ, I called her Fiona?_

Sahar sat up nervously, wrapping the bed sheets around her and bit her lips in self-consciousness. "Is Fiona your wife?"

Michael turned his face to look at her, unsurprised at the question. She really was exquisite. He could see the high cheekbones, the perfect face, the large, round eyes. He didn't miss the hidden meaning behind the question. "Honey, do you think I would let some woman tie me down?" He sneered at the word _woman_, as if it were venom on his tongue. "I drink and party and by God this is my life and nothing will take me away from it!" He laughed and laughed and laughed as Sahar picked up her clothes, flushed and embarrassed at her assumption that he was looking for a girl.

"_People are assets, resources to accomplish a goal. In and out._" Max, his handler, had drilled the mantra into from the start. Michael didn't miss Sahar's cocoa butter smell when she left. Instead, he missed Fiona's smell of gunpowder, spent shotgun shells, and _her_.

Years later, he would dine with Fiona again, and he'd remember Sahar, how no matter he tried to focus on her, the only woman that could occupy his mind was the one sitting across from him, making the sexiest show of eating with chopsticks he'd ever seen. For a fleeting moment, he didn't care about the three FBI agents behind him or his burn notice; in this instant, he only cared about her.


	2. Shadow Watch

Fiona yawned for the hundredth time and leaned her head against the car door. With a quick glance at Michael, she drummed her fingers on the glass. Of course, Michael showed no reaction. Fiona wondered if he was ever passive-aggressive. No, he was just painstakingly patient, she decided.

He continued to peer through the lens of his binoculars, transfixed on the lit expanse a hundred meters out. Bushes obscured the Charger and its black exterior blended in with the night silhouettes, shielding them from detection. They were, in essence, part of the shadows.

"No one has gone in and out for an hour, Michael," Fiona said boredly as she twirled a strand of hair around her fingers. They had been sitting in the Charger since 9 PM and it was already past two in the morning. If it weren't for the three cups of coffee that Fiona had drank earlier (ignoring Michael's protests that it would make her even more insufferable with unbridled energy), she would be fast asleep by now.

Michael sighed. "Fi, we need to map their schedule and keep track of the shift changes so we can plan the raid accordingly. You wanted to storm the place, this is me listening." Despite her attention span, he was glad that she was here; it was much less lonely being on a stakeout with someone else.

"Tell me again why we can't just plant a bug and hook it up to a video feed," she said.

"There's no Wi-Fi or cell signals here and femtocells won't work without Wi-Fi or a constant power source," he explained patiently, still looking through his binoculars. "Besides, I want to wrap everything up without delaying another day. Don't you have a magazine to read? Nails to paint? Whatever it is that you do?"

She rolled her eyes. "And… why do you need me here at two in the morning when I could be in the comfort of my own bed right now?"

Michael lowered the binoculars and looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You're here… for…" – he gestured between them – "tactical support. You know. In case things go wrong." Fiona looked at him expectantly. "Backup," he added.

"Right. In case a seventy-year old _suspected_ art and heroin dealer one-ups you. Admit it," she smiled, "you just like spending time with me. Even when I'm driving you insane."

Michael shrugged, "Think whatever you want." He raised the binoculars back up to eye-level and stared back at the warehouse. "Shift change between the two guards at the back gate, 2:28 AM. Write that down." He tapped the wheel.

Fiona threw the pen at the back of his head. Unfazed, he picked the pen up from the ground and scribbled his notes on the clipboard on Fiona's lap. Fiona snapped the pen into the metal clutch and tossed it onto the dashboard.

"I think that surveillance can be really boring," she told him, extending her legs to rest on the dashboard and reclining her seat back. Michael rolled his eyes through his binoculars. "Really. I couldn't tell."

Unperturbed at his sarcasm, Fiona continued, "And there's lots of ways to pass the time more… interestingly." No answer from Michael. "Like Belfast and Germany," she finished sultrily. She faced him, propping her head on her hand and crossing her legs.

"You want to screw?" Michael asked incredulously, never taking his eyes away from the lens. "Right now?"

"It's fun. Admit it, we both need it. So… what do you say?"

"I find it funny that you're actually asking my opinion on this, Fi." Michael retorted. "Since when have you ever been considerate of my feelings?"

"I'm _always_ considerate of your feelings!" Fiona exclaimed, "I was _most certainly_ considerate of your feelings two weeks ago when you were in my mouth." He deliberately ignored her jab.

"Fine!" She harrumphed.

A few minutes passed and Michael thought that maybe finally she'd give him a little peace. Wrong. He was so, very, deliciously, wrong. He heard a moan from behind him and had the (mis-) fortune to look. And he stared.

She had shed her one-piece dress and was in the middle of the biggest mindfuck Michael had seen in a while – she was _masturbating_. _Right there_. With him next to her – within touching distance no less. And he was supposed to be focusing on the warehouse door. He could not tear his eyes away and his binoculars dropped to his lap.

Fiona twisted her legs in a silent taunt to Michael, right hand between her legs and left hand tweaking her nipples. Her head was tilted back, eyes in slits, and mouth half open. She looked like she was having a great time and he found the sight unbelievably erotic. He was torn between wanting to be the one fingering her and just wanting to watch her.

Fiona worked her fingers, angling it against her G-spot and moaning every so often. It had been a while since she catered to her own whims instead of relying on Michael; she found the independence rather refreshing, knowing that she could still handle herself. It was fifteen minutes until her left hand fell back to grip the side of the seat. Michael's own hands were gripping his binoculars, knuckles white and feeling the strain.

"Jesus fuck, Fi…" Michael said when she drew her fingers out, glistening, and put them in her mouth, tasting her juices. He forced himself to close his stingingly dry eyes to restore moisture and obliterate the thoughts of her running through his mind – _surveillance, surveillance, baseball statistics_. Fiona swiped up some more of her juices and poked her fingers directly into Michael's half-open mouth – was his jaw really dropped the entire time? Eyes still closed, he licked around her fingertips, savoring the taste of her, before sucking greedily and licking up and down her finger.

"2:48. Guard just left post, heading eastwards." Fiona said suddenly, handing his binoculars back to him.

"What?" Michael mumbled around her fingers and opened his eyes, blinking them several times to clear his vision. Fiona withdrew her fingers and picked up the clipboard. He blinked at the binoculars, wondering when she had taken them, and looked over at her. She jotted down the observation, seeing Michael stare at her in her peripheral vision. "Some spy you are. Whatever happened to surveillance?"

Michael stared at her some more. She was nonchalant, as if she didn't just have an orgasm a few minutes ago, as if she wasn't sitting next to him, naked. _Naked_, his mind reminded him. He looked back out at the guard who wasn't there and back at Fiona. She yawned and started put her clothes back on – and already his heart started to protest.

He swallowed and put his hand on her arm to stop her, "We _did_ have good times in Belfast."

Fiona slowly turned to look at him. Finally, he had come to his senses. His pupils were wide – probably more from being aroused than the darkness. She wanted to tell him that he needed to lighten up more – to not take everything so seriously. She felt almost crude when she realized that he only loosened up when his self-control was scrambled (although, deep-inside she really knew all along - that was why she gave him a show, wasn't it?). "You do remember," she smiled at him anyway.

"Yeah."

He tugged at her arm in invitation and she gingerly made her way to his lap. He slid the seat back to give her more sitting area, but she shimmied down into the space just below the steering wheel. The steering wheel dug into her back a bit, but she didn't care. His cock twitched in anticipation. "You'll have to keep watching; it's still your shift," she grinned evilly at her from her position, tossing his binoculars at him. Michael caught them and glared, but grudgingly raised his eyes out the window.

He shivered as Fiona pulled down his pants and boxers, pooling them around his ankles. He was hard from watching her. She placed kisses on his thighs, making absolutely sure that she didn't even touch his erection. Oh, he'd realize what it meant to have fun.

Fiona gripped his hips, keeping her eyes on him and blew over his cock, hot air enveloping him and then dissipating. She grinned at his suddenly ragged breathing and shaky arms holding the binoculars up.

"2:59," he hissed and lowered the binoculars, right arm stretching out to jot on the clipboard on the seat that Fiona had previously occupied. "Another guard's with him with some forms."

"That's probably the nightly shipments that Ricky was talking about," Fiona purred around his cock, eliciting a moan from Michael and a mumbled "probably" as he looked back out the window.

Fiona had to admit; she underestimated just how Michael could focus on two things at the same time. Unsurprising, considering how he could field her sarcastic digs and incessant complaining during stakeouts with extreme patience while observing his surroundings. He had to be desperate, though; he quivered with every press of her lips, hips jerking minutely every time she breathed on her and his arms were unsteady in keeping the binoculars raised.

Michael didn't think he could hold out much longer; nothing could drive him to the edge of insanity _and leave him dangling there_ like Fiona. The guards were arguing, dilly-dallying about their criminal lives, never knowing that a man, getting a blowjob, no less, was observing them.

Fiona sucked two fingers noisily in her mouth, knowing that Michael would be able to hear her in the stillness of the Miami air. She let her fingers out with a pop and ran her wet fingers over one side of his erection, over the head of his penis, an down the other side. This time the jerk of his hips was significant and his breath came out on a pained hiss.

She could hear the scratches of pen on paper as Michael jotted down more notes, and she could hear the rumbling of a departing truck. Returning her fingers to her mouth, she repeated the process, except this time she played with the swollen head of his cock a little more and let her other hand softly caress his balls.

Michael's entire body shuddered and the moan he let out oozed desperation. His body felt like one big throbbing nerve and any thought of this job had been replaced by a mantra of "Fi, Fi, Fi."

She rubbed her palm on his head, grinding the precum back in, and stroked him.

"The friction," he gritted, "Hurts." Her hands were exquisite and soft, but that didn't change the fact that he was still achingly hard and the stroking was painful. Maybe it was even a subconscious request for her to use her mouth. It was the most he'd ever said in terms of demands, anyway.

Fiona took pity at his agonized voice and rested her hands on his hips. She lowered her mouth to him and trailed her tongue down his cock down to his balls and back up, making another pass over the head. She swirled her tongue around and enveloped him. She heard the binoculars drop and the sound of him moaning and the 'thud' of his head as it fell back. She felt his back arching into her mouth and her hands tangling into her hair.

"Fi, oh god," his voice was hoarse. More than anything in the world right now he wanted her to suck him, to suck him blind and to suck him into sweet oblivion and bliss. He couldn't remember why it had ever been a problem to do this to begin with. It was worth it in Belfast. It was worth it in Germany. It was worth it in Miami. Fiona's hand grasped the base of his cock as she throated him, sucking him like a Popsicle.

His head lolled forward as she continued sucking him. He swept her hair away and held it up, wanting to see her mouth moving up and down him. His mind was deliciously empty, focused on nothing but her.

Suddenly, Fiona felt his hand drop from her hair and grip the sides of her shoulders. He started moaning loudly. She could feel him starting to come and she stroked his balls, encouraging his release.

"Fi," he groaned and tapped on her head. She sucked even harder, granting him invitation to come in her mouth.

"Goddamn, goddamn, Fi, look at me," he panted, feeling the beginnings of a happy ending – a pinpoint of pleasure on the tip of his cock. Fiona looked up at him, never stopping her ministrations, and her look smoldered him. Hot sparks jolted down his cock, through his pelvis, down to his lower legs and throughout his upper body. He moaned her name as he came, digging his nails into her shoulder.

Fiona continued to suck him softly until she drained every last drop of him and he was completely spent. She released him with a small pop and looked back at him. He was panting and still staring at her, recovering his breath from bone-deep satisfaction. Michael tugged at her arms, pulling her into his lap. Fiona snuggled against him, feeling his racing heartbeat slow down to normal. His arms enclosed her. She let out a contented sigh and felt him press a kiss on the top of her head. Fiona smiled into his chest.

No more noteworthy events occurred at the warehouse, but neither of them cared. The stakeout was no longer boring; the release of pent-up sexual frustration gave way to easy conversation and light jokes. The temperature stayed comfortably cool until the sun started to rise, bringing light and scattering the shadows.

* * *

**A/N: Had more fun writing this than the previous smut although it took me a few days to figure out where I wanted to go in terms of direction. Hope you enjoy!**


	3. Mint Condition

**A/N: Bit of a writer's block, lately. Maybe churning out _something_ will help me get back into focus.**

* * *

Fiona swirled her tongue eagerly, lapping up cold, milky, deliciousness, acutely aware of Michael's eyes on her. There was nothing to distract the two of them today; they had no cases, Madeline was playing canasta, and Sam was off in the Keys with Miss. Reynolds.

Michael had already finished his cone, and was just watching the show. His sunglasses obscured his aroused look and the tablecloth shielded the erection he was going to have if she didn't stop. In his mind's eye, it was him that Fiona was sucking, and he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy for the ice cream cone.

_Impassive and impressive_, Fiona thought, smirking at her pun. _Spy training._ She was now down to her waffle cone, having licked away the protruding scoop of mint chocolate. She trailed a tongue down the length of the cone, and Michael's breath hitched in his throat. She tilted the ice cream towards him and bit off the bottom. A few crunches later, she noisily sucked the last of the ice cream through the hole.

"You done?" Michael asked.

"Not yet," Fiona replied, and she slipped under the table, under the guise of "tying her shoe" to passers.

Michael's façade of nonchalance finally cracked; he simply grinned at the air in front of him.


	4. Under Siege

**A/N: Trying my hand at first person. Churning out the last chapter seems to have helped my muse, as well. Continuation of "Mint Condition."**

* * *

Michael is not usually very loud during sex; he's more of a quiet moaner, with "ahhhs" and "groans" throughout and a final expletive or my name on his tongue as pleasure peaks. But he's never been outright loud.

Which is why I was so startled and concerned when Michael began moaning really, _really_ loudly. As in, _is-something-wrong-and-should-I-stop?_ type of moans. This is especially disconcerting, considering that Michael's in full-view of the public's eye.

I pulled him out of my mouth and called out to him from under the table. "…Michael?"

"Don't stop," he said. The tablecloth and my general location muffled his voice, but I could still make out its husky undertones. I scoffed and then smirked. Predictable. When does a man ever tell you to stop in the middle of a blowjob?

I don't know what possessed me to climb under the table during the middle of the afternoon in busy Miami. I hadn't even planned to give him the _Fiona and Mint _show; that only started when I noticed that he was staring at my mouth. Now that I was actually down here, it occurred to me just how cramped it was despite how high the table was. Thankfully, I wouldn't have problems with bumping my head and the tablecloth at least reached the floor.

Almost. Well, if nobody decided to peek closely at the two-inch gap between the floor and the tablecloth…

Shrugging, I decided to treat his cock as an ice cream cone – in honor of my treat earlier. He hardened even more as I gripped his shaft and swirled my tongue around the tip – letting out another series of groans.

Then suddenly, I felt his hips shift backwards – as if he was repositioning himself in his chair.

"Michael! Hey!"

…_Seriously?_

"Barry!" Michael exclaimed, voice strained. Behind me, my chair scraped as Barry sat down.

"Haven't seen you in a while, business must be low-key for you. What are you doing here?" Barry asked in his typically cheerful manner.

"Oh, you know. Just chilling," Michael replied. My face broke into a grin. Few times do I ever have an opportunity to force Michael into a difficult position. I immediately deep-throated him, forcing my gag reflex to relax. His hips unconsciously bucked.

"Ah, yeah. Same, same. Clients are happy, everything's right for once. So, how are you and Fi doing these days?" Barry asked. I could barely contain my laughter – although being balls-deep was enough to keep me quiet. I bobbed my head up and down his cock, twisting my head around and kneading his balls. He writhed his hips in response.

"Oh… Fi is… you know. Fi," Michael coughed out. He dug his shoe into my stomach, presumably to get me to stop. In response, I pulled my lips back and grazed my teeth along his shaft, from the base to just below his head. His entire lower body flinched visibly, hips ripe with tension. He pulled his foot back.

"Yeah, yeah. Firecracker as usual. Still hard to handle, huh?" Barry joked. I tapped up and down Michael's shaft with my fingers, as if I were playing him like a piano; from experience, I know that it keeps the blood flowing and I felt like offering him a consolatory piece for baring teeth. One could argue that I _was_ playing him, but "cat with mouse" would be a better comparison. I gave his tip another hard lick.

Michael simply grunted in response to Barry, presumably speechless both for pleasure and as a way to let him know that he wasn't interested in carrying on a conversation.

"So, I tell you about this new lotion thing that I got? No? Anyway –"

Michael cut him off, each ensuing word slow and measured. "Barry, as much as I'd love to talk to you, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now." The corner of my mouth quirked. However, Barry's comment did remind me the lack of lube available in my current location; this is where poor planning gets you, despite what poor improvisational skills you may have. To remedy this, I went down on him again, lapping up his entire length like a lollipop. Probably one of the most telltale signs that a man is enjoying a blowjob is when he leaks precum. I ground the cum back in with my palm. He hissed and immediately tried to cover it up by talking. "So I'll see you later. Maybe I'll bring Fi by," he added.

I switched my focus to his balls now, sucking lightly on each one, tugging on his cock with my hand.

"Yeah, yeah. You might want to get some of this lotion yourself. Your face is kinda red. It's real good for sunburns." The chair pushed back against the floor.

"That's. Great!" Michael replied in his false cheery voice as I squeezed his shaft and trailed my tongue from between his balls to the underside and over the head. I heard Barry's footsteps recede and immediately set off pumping him and rubbing his tip against my lips, my tongue darting out every so often and giving his tip a swirl.

"God, Fi. I'm gonna come." Michael groaned from above, slipping his hands under the table and stroking my hair. "So damn good."

I responded by taking him in entirely again and humming around his cock. Then his hips started bucking into my mouth. Everything inside him instantly exploded in chain reaction and he let out a _really_ loud groan – no way nobody heard that one. I continued to work him over until he pulled me off of him.

Mouth full of cum, I peeked my head from under the tablecloth, arms in his lap. His head, previously tilted back, lolled back to look at me. I swallowed and licked my lips, grinning when his jaw fell open.

"So, you really liked it?" I asked as I tucked him back in and buttoned up his slacks. I made a point to ignore commenting on his loudness; he'd already been potentially embarrassed.

Michael caught onto my drift anyway, "calculated risk," he replied. I retreated back under the table and climbed out the other end before settling into my chair again. He tilted his head thoughtfully at me before continuing. "Just something different about doing it in public and being completely surprised. In a good way. It was amazing." He smiled at me, crinkling eyes reflecting his sincerity.

His cheeks and neck instantly flushed red when a passing waiter winked at us.


	5. Line of Control

**A/N: Bondage. Set sometime before M/F's embrace in the Season 5 premiere, but still within the S5 timeline.**

* * *

Steel handcuffs clinked against the wooden bedposts with every flick of her tongue.

Her hands held his hips down while her elbows on his thighs gave him the occasional warning jab, just to keep him still enough. It had been several minutes after her name fell from his lips, and now nothing but panting caressed her ears. And the panting, it was broken by moans and grunts as she licked, deliberately toying with balls between his legs.

The trickle of her sweat fell to her eyes and she wiped them away, holding his stare. She lifted her still fully-clothed self to her knees, surveying the naked limbs stretched on his bed. Well-sculpted muscles from years of military training – were stretched – by hands cuffed together. His abs rippled with each passing breath. Inhale, exhale. A sheen of sweat mingled with the dusting of hair tapering down to the shaft. It waved with every jerk of his hips.

Watching fluid seep from the tip, she licked her lips once more. Her glaze flicked up when he groaned in response, meeting burning eyes fixed upon her. His longer hair mussed as his head arched back in response to her touch. His tongue wet his lips as he panted, waiting for her next move.

Fiona grinned, and crawled down his toned thighs, spying the flex of his calves as he continued to watch her getting up. She stood at the foot of the bed, undressing calmly, pretending to ignore his fervent gaze running over her. Removing the articles of clothing became a show unto itself and his knees flexed reflexively.

She was flushed and aroused, feeling powerful over a normally stoic man struggling to keep his wits together. After everything had been stripped away, she slowly turned herself, providing ample view. His eyes swept her body, and made a pass over once more.

"How are you doing?" Fiona asked, her hands clasped together and reaching upwards as if to the heavens, firming her breasts.

Michael deliberately pulled his eyes upwards to meet her gaze. Lust meeting lust. "Hungry."

She crawled onto him, making sure he felt the wetness that had soaked her underwear. He rewarded her with a toothy grin, cheeks bunched up. Feeling wicked and enjoying every moment of it, she sat up, resting on her calves and his chest, just above where he wanted her. Trailing her thumb over each rib and then gliding up the corners of his mouth. He sucked them and rolled them between his teeth, eyes wild with anticipation.

She started rocking her pelvis against his, closing her eyes with the pleasure she was providing herself on his hard, heaving torso.

"Fionaaaa. Please." The voice was gravelly, hardly recognizable as her spy lover. She opened her eyes halfway and replied in a breathless voice, "Yes?"

His nostrils flared at her deliberate incomprehension, silently promising retribution for the torture. "I want you."

Feeling the promise of pleasure prodding her backside as he flexed his hips, she closed her eyes at him, not ready to give in yet. Instead, she crawled further up, dragging her juices along his chest, bringing her dripping core to his mouth.

"Then have me."

He unhesitatingly licked along her outer lips, eliciting moans, and bent to grip within his bound hands her hands. She lost herself in the fire of pleasure as he licked her clean and sucked her clit until she was so close she wouldn't have thought she could hold back. He slipped his tongue into her throbbing passage, deliberately licking the walls as he pulled back out, making her shudder.

His hips twisted helplessly on the mattress. "More, she panted," and he pulled his lips away. Hot breath caressed the glistening flesh before him. "Fuck me and we can both have more."

She pulled herself up with an effort, eyes stark with lust, loving that they could do this to each other. Managing a taunting grin as she drew away from his wet lips.

And brought one hand to finger her clit as the other held her lips open, making sure he saw exactly what she was doing.

He couldn't help but part his mouth in surprise just a bit, relishing in the taboo-ness of it all.

She was so close already that it only took a few strokes for pleasure to storm through her, crying out his name as he watched her dripping sex spasm open and closed. Lust avalanched through his body and his mind blanked. The bedpost breaking as he snapped his cuffed hands forward, grabbing her hips and lifting her right onto his desperately sensitive shaft, crying out at the tight, burning glove.

He held her in place for a few moments after the last of her orgasm contracted around him. Then rolling them both so he was on top, bound hands above her head, weight on his elbows. Thrusting hard and fast with her legs wrapped around her waist.

"Higher," he grunted. When her eyes opened, glazed, he growled again. "Put your legs up higher."

She threw one leg over his shoulder and let the other wrap around his upper chest, crying out as the change in angle made his every move grind against her now too-sensitive clit. His lips covered hers, staking his claim on her, stealing her breath as her nails clawed into his back. She couldn't think, nor tell how long they stayed like that, riding the edge of pleasure and pain, out of breath and on fire with need until her tension flashed.

Lighting coursed through her body, every muscle clenching, back arching off the bed and snapping her head back as she screamed, _Michael_.

Watching her come once made him throw the game; the second time he never saw. He felt it first, and the tension that had been driving him mad finally boiled over. His body stiffened as she bucked under him, waves of heat burning him as it poured through his synapses.

He finally just started to remember that there was such a thing as thought. Feeling gentle hands stroking his still too-responsive skin.

"I wasn't going to leave you like that, you know."

It took several moments for him to process sound into meaning. Raising his head from where it had somehow landed half on her shoulder, half on the bed. He took a deep breath to oxygenate his brain, feeling far too light-headed as he blinked at her.

"I know." He shrugged, and pulled his weight back onto his arms to let her breathe. "I didn't mean to lose it like that. But sometimes you just have this way…" Even in his wiped-out state, the memory made his eyes narrow, hips jerk, and he rolled his eyes ruefully at himself and at Fiona. She grinned widely, obviously very pleased with herself to have plucked apart his studious strips of control.

To Hell with it. She was happy. So was he. Who was he to complain?

He tilted his head at her. "So tell me again: this is supposed to be punishment for worrying you? Because," he dropped a kiss on her forehead, "although I really am sorry," another kiss. "Really sorry. As a punishment, apart from chafing my wrists and the splinters, this is kind of ambiguous, you know."

She sighed and held him tighter. "How about incentive? To remember what's waiting at home?" She stroked a hand down his cheek. Sadness tainted her smile, "an attempt to pretend I can keep you safely beside me instead of you jet-setting all around the world?"

He turned his head and kissed her palm, closing his eyes and leaning his head into her hand. Feeling safely at home after a week – or anywhere – wasn't something he normally felt. A comfortable security from time to time, maybe, but a daily life penetrated by Management, assassins, and various jobs hadn't afforded him that luxury often.

Yet now with his name cleared all but officially, that feeling was starting to seep into Miami. With Fi.

"You've always been all the incentive I've needed."


	6. Swift Reprisal

**A/N: More bondage and semi-public sex. Also, is it just me or does Michael seem weirdly OC in 5x02? On that note, I'm afraid he's also a bit OC here as well. **

**Additionally, I'm embarrassed to find spelling errors here and there throughout some of my fics. They have since been corrected. I swear I know how to spell - and I've tried my best to proofread this one - but if you see any grammar/spelling errors, please do let me know.**

* * *

It wasn't so bad, actually. Sure, his arms were aching and his butt numb. Yes, his arms were chained above his head and he had the night to wait before release. But it was manageable, and considerably better than his past cell experiences. Afghanistan came to mind.

For starters, the floor was wood rather than dirt, and he was sitting instead of standing. It wasn't even that hot out, despite it being a Costa Rican summer. The sheriff had given him a drink of water and let him relieve himself before retiring for the night, too. He wasn't being interrogated, tortured, or under siege.

For spending a night in a jail cell, it was pretty good, so far. Michael guessed that the biggest problem he'd have to deal with would be Fi, considering this was supposed to be their vacation. That, and reporting back to his superiors and getting a ribbing from Max about getting locked up all because of a drunken brawl at the pub. He wasn't even drunk; he just ended up in the middle of it. His Spanish sucked. Everybody knew that.

_Coger_ is an innocent enough word in Castilian and any Spanish-speaking area, except for Latin America. Apparently, he told someone to go fuck himself, while trying to order a drink. Then Michael insinuated that the guy was horny; _caliente_ means "hot" only when referring to an object. He was only trying to comment on the hot weather, which is why he was ordering said drink to begin with.

Fiona had tried to mediate the fight as much as possible, but she was of no help when consumed by peals of laughter. Then the police came, and it all went downhill from there. Fortunately in the end, Fi was able to convince the officer to reduce his sentence to a night rather than a week.

Overall, Michael wasn't too worried. Well, maybe except for Fi's reaction in the morning. In the past, she had always gotten this disappointed look on her face when time together got interrupted, which was always painful to see. He hated feeling like he let her down. Now that she was actually his _girlfriend_, he didn't want to imagine her reaction.

By his reckoning, there'd be a few hours left anyway; maybe several extra hours to think might help soothe her irritation. He leaned his head back against the wall. If he could just ignore the vague strain in his arms, a nap between now and sunrise was definitely possible.

Before he could actually relax, though, the door swung open and in swooped Fiona. A torch burned bright outside, light illuminating the cell.

For the briefest moment, Michael panicked. What if she had come to try to get him released and had gotten in trouble as well? It was certainly like Fiona to do that. A second glance out the door saw a soldier from the US Army, no doubt an escort.

"I'd appreciate some time alone," Fiona said to him and he left, closing the door behind him. Then she turned to him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. She didn't look furious, upset, or disappointed, just mildly irritated.

He had no idea what to say, so he waited. Several moments passed, before she sighed. "How do you still not know Spanish after four years in Miami?"

"Look, it was an accident. And –"

"Save it," she snapped. Michael was slightly taken aback; Fiona wasn't usually this judgmental. "We've had this conversation multiple times." She crossed the room towards him and he began to panic. Her voice was off and he wondered if she were really pissed off this time.

Finally, she stood over him, looking down. "Seriously, Michael? First night, and you're locked up?" It really wasn't fair, thought Michael. All of his excuses _were_ legitimate. Before he could protest, Fiona lowered her arms. "This time, I think you'll just have to take your punishment."

Michael stared at her, eyebrows raised. "Fi, that's why I'm in jail, in case you haven't noticed. Do you hear me complaining about it?"

She reached up to her neck; belatedly, he noticed her unusual attire, considering the humid nature of the climate. Her attire only struck him as she unfastened her jacket and let it fall open.

His jaw nearly hit the floor.

She was wearing a sinful little bra, and he stammered out some kind of noise, trying to formulate a question, but his brain was stalled on the fact that Fiona nearly top-bare while talking about punishing him and oh God he was in serious trouble.

Now that they were at eye level, he could see a wicked smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He could live with Fiona enjoying herself at his expense, although whatever she had in mind might just kill him. _What else is new?_

"So," she said, wiggling a little closer. Her voice was now down to a whisper, so that nobody happening by outside would hear them. "Are you going to accept your punishment like a responsible adult?" He wanted to protest that complaining wasn't in his nature and he was always responsible, but all that came out was a throaty, "yeah."

Her fingers slid through his hair at the nape of his neck as she kissed him. The position was awkward, yes, but she didn't seem to be in a hurry. Her lips slid against his slowly for a long time before she let them part and let him deepen the kiss. He didn't get to control it for very long before Fiona's tongue delved into her mouth, but it was still slow, controlled, and he was definitely getting aroused. When they pulled apart to breathe, he wanted to kiss her neck the way he usually did, but she leaned back away from him. With his arms chained, there was nothing he could do about that.

Fiona shrugged off her jacket, and he got fully hard. God, she was beautiful. It really hit him randomly, sometimes, how elegantly gorgeous she was. Her fingers trailed up her arm, and then across her shoulder and throat while her head tipped back and her eyes fluttered closed. He could see goose bumps break out as she touched herself, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning.

Her hands slid down the front of her own body, but then she leaned forward again and her fingers began to unfasten his pants. They had taken his belt and gun holster away when he'd been arrested. He had squirmed a little then when police hands crawled a bit too close for comfort, and he squirmed again now when her hands brushed lightly against his erections. He went still when her lips brushed his ear. "Not. One. Sound."

She nipped his earlobe for good measure. He swallowed hard.

Fiona pulled his erection free of his boxers, and chuckled upon seeing him fully hard. In her current mood, though, she did the exact opposite of what he wanted. Feather-light finger-stroked brushed along his length. Her fingertips were warm, but the friction was just barely enough to entice him. One delicate digit stroked along the underside of his entire cock, then brushed lightly against his head.

Michael was panting heavily by now; her touch brought no relief and his wrists twisted helplessly within the restraints as his body began to writhe. He caught Fiona staring at him. She knew exactly what this did to him, yet she wasn't going to stop until _she _was satisfied, not him. Up and down, she kept tormenting him with too-light touches and too little pressure where he wanted him. Michael began to sweat as his body tensed further.

Her fingers slid down the base of his dick and then into his underwear. One finger teased his balls and he grunted, unable to keep it in. Fiona slapped her other hand across his mouth, "What did I say?" She whispered.

He glared at her. She knew exactly how sensitive his balls were. A couple weeks ago when she had been going down on him, she sucked one of his balls into her mouth and he came before he could warn her. She had to shower to wash her hair because of it, though the two orgasms he gave her in the shower mollified her annoyance quite a bit.

Point was, she knew better than to touch him there and expect him to keep quiet. Both of her hands withdrew and she leaned back. "I see you still haven't learned your lesson," she smirked. He watched as she unfastened her pants, and he cursed internally.

She was going to leave him like this, throbbing and on edge, while she touched herself.

Her pants fell down around her hips just a little, but enough for him to realize she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Fiona wasn't wearing any underwear.

He just barely caught the very loud groan that wanted to come out. Forgetting for a second that he was tied down, he lunged at her, wanting to drag her all the way into his lap and feel the skin under her pants. The chains above his hands jangled and Fiona gave him to the most evil sneer he'd ever seen; she knew exactly what he was thinking, what seeing her like this was doing to him, and she was enjoying every moment of it.

She put one finger in her mouth before drawing it out slowly. Michael breathed heavily through his mouth, watching avidly as that wet finger slid between her legs. Fiona's eyes closed and her head fell back as she touched herself. This was one of his favorite things to do to begin with – watching her pleasure herself before he even touched her. Michael had devoted considerable energy to studying her body, getting her to show him how she liked to be touched, paid attention to what combination to touches and kisses and movements made her react, knew the right angle and the right amount of pressure to put on her clit to begin with, and how to build her up until she was so beyond ready. His hands clenched into fists; at this point he wasn't even sure she was going to let him get involved at all.

Her other hand slid up her body, grazing her breasts and then her neck. He swallowed. Palming – and sucking – her breasts are actions he indulges frequently in bed. He could see her nipples beginning to pucker the material. His mouth watered, and he had to swallow.

Fiona began to rock up and down, pushing into her own touch. Unfortunately for Michael, she was kneeling across his thighs and thus providing no friction against his cock, which was twitching helplessly and neglected in the open air. He really ached to be inside her; the best moments of his days, lately, were when he finally got to slide inside of her body. He loved how hot and wet she'd get for him, the feeling of her close to coming, and the telltale twitching of her muscles that meant she was about to orgasm. He leaned forward as much as she could, instinctively trying to get closer.

He could even smell her. Involuntarily, he croaked out, "Fiona."

Her eyes opened and for a moment, she lost the evil façade as her body began to climax. Her hand grabbed his shoulder for balance and she bit down on her lower lip to keep quiet as she moved more frantically. His eyes flickered over her, the way her skin was sweaty enough to reflect the dim light, the way her breasts jiggled slightly as she moved. The whisper of noise from her rocking stopped and she let out a quiet gasp of pleasure as she came.

She sagged forward enough that he could kiss her cheek, nuzzle her neck, and lick the tendon in her throat. As she began to draw back, he caught her lips and kissed her, tongue moving wildly. She broke the kiss, looking into his eyes and raising her finger to his lips. Michael sucked it eagerly, licking the taste of her body from her skin. He liked the way she tasted, and never missed a chance to go down on her. She shuddered as his tongue played over her finger and even in his pleasure-hazed brain, Michael made a mental note – Fi liked him sucking on her fingers. He'd have to try that another time.

When he wasn't, you know, chained to a wall in a jail cell.

Finally, her hand left his face and she let out a long sigh. Then she began to fasten her pants. Through clenched teeth, Michael whimpered. She wasn't going to leave him like this, would she? Teasing was one thing, but that would be _really_ cruel.

"Did you want something, Michael?" she asked lowly. He could hear the laugh in her voice, which reassured him. Just a little.

His head thumped back against the wall. He rocked his hips. "_Por favor,_" he breathed. "_Tengo caliente_."

Fiona shifted backwards, and smiled. "See, your Spanish is improving." She bent over him, sending Michael's heart rate spiking as he realized what she was going to do. But she stopped _again_.

"I was going to just give you a hand job, and leave you with that to think about," Fi drawled. "Then I realized that might leave a wet spot on your clothes, and how would you explain that in the morning?" She mused.

Distantly, he realized that was a fair point. Only distantly, though, for the rest of him didn't care, urging her to close the distance and to take his throbbing erection into her mouth. However, he met her eyes as best as he could in the dim light, because he knew Fiona wasn't going to move until she made her point.

"I just want you to appreciate how considerate of you I'm being here," Fiona informed him in a matter-of-fact voice.

In spite of his raging hard-on, the tension in his body, in spite of it all, Michael cracked up.

_Then_ she moved, sliding down and taking him into her mouth. There was no more talking, only the slight rustle of fabric and the tiny, wet sounds of sex. She didn't even make him beg or wait any more; he would have expected more teasing, more torture, just to do the job really thoroughly. But she sucked hard, just the way he liked, the way that would bring him off fast.

Even if she hadn't, of course, there wasn't anything he could do. If he moved his hips at all, it would risk hurting her, especially with the angle she had to maintain like this. Michael held himself, watching her head move up and down, feeling her mouth and tongue on his cock, and let Fiona take him where he was dying to go.

He suppressed a final noise, biting down on his lip as the orgasm charged through him hard. An aftershock hit as he listened to her swallow. Then she let him go and sat up, stretching her back and rubbing her neck. Michael's eyes were closed, and he cracked them open to see her grinning ruefully. "That wasn't very comfortable."

"Try being me," he retorted with a lazy grin.

Fiona tucked him back into his pants and straightened her own, pulling the jacket back on. There was no outward evidence of what had transpired, save for the flush on her face and his.

"Four hundred million people speak Spanish worldwide. The next time you contemplate picking up Spanish, I hope you'll think about this little lesson."

Michael snorted. "Fi, you do realize that I'm not going to be able to do anything but think about this for weeks, right?"

"Good," Fiona said smugly. "Hopefully it'll render you speechless the next time you set foot in Latin America. It'll give you a chance to prevent shoving your foot into your mouth again."

He would have pointed out that language barriers were only a very small part of his very small history of operative mistakes, but he just sighed heavily. Fiona watched him, curious at his lack of a retort. Michael licked his lips, "Can I just have one thing here?"

"Okay."

"Come here for a second." He nodded his head, and Fiona obligingly crawled forward so that she was kneeling over his lap, and close enough for him to lean in and kiss her. Which he did. Her arms slid around his neck, holding on tight for a minute. When the kiss broke, he nuzzled her throat, wishing he could put his arms around her, too.

Outside, footsteps approached and Fiona hastily stood up, brushing at her knees and zipping up her jacket. Michael felt chilled without her body heat, but suspected that memories of the last half hour would keep him quite warm for the rest of the night.

The soldier tapped on the door and stuck his head in when Fiona answered. "We should go," he said. His face was impassive; he made no sign that he was aware of the events that happened.

Fiona nodded, and glanced down at him. "I'll see you first thing come morning, Michael," she blew a kiss. "If your Spanish can't find your way back…"

Michael tipped his head, acknowledging her threat. "_Adios_." The door swung closed behind her, taking her laughter with it.

Once again, he attempted to relax his shoulders and get comfortable. Yeah, it wasn't so bad.


End file.
